


OF Full Moons, A Hand, And A Ring

by PrincessSophiaIsobel



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Regrets, gratitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessSophiaIsobel/pseuds/PrincessSophiaIsobel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Ron and his family had moved to Godric's Hallow. It would have been alright if the house they now occupied wasn't owned previously by some dead guy. And to make things worse, Ron's room belonged to Old Man Dumbledore. And it faced the cemetery that was across their house. Fred and George begins to tease Ron about it until Ron finds out what truly happened to the old man. Will Ron be able to gather enough courage to help the old man? Or will the ghostly hand have its own way with Ron?</p>
            </blockquote>





	OF Full Moons, A Hand, And A Ring

Poor Ronald Weasley! His parents have dragged him to a new town. His bedroom overlooks the cemetery. He dragged himself down to have breakfast. Ginny had stayed in London at her cousin Hermione's house. Bill was in Egypt for his archaeological research. Charlie was in Romania and Percy had bought his own place now.

Fred and George were already eating when he came down.

“The old man’s hand got cut off,” Fred said, smirking at his twin then both stared at their younger brother.

“It did not. You’re just trying to scare me,” Ron said, biting his lip.

“And the police never found it either. Everyone at the high school says the old man looks for it when the moon is full.” George said, and wore the same smirk his twin was wearing on his face.

“But Mum said the old man who used to live in our house is dead.” Ron retaliated.

The twins smirked wider.

“Oh, he is. You sleep in the room that used to be his!” they both spoke.

Goose bumps shot up Ron’s arms. He looked out the window of their new home in the country. Old Man Dumbledore was buried in the Godric’s Hollow Cemetery just across the road. During the daylight hours, it looked quiet and peaceful, but at night, he could hear strange sounds coming from beyond the fence.

His father had told him not to worry. Lots of strange noises could be heard in the country at night. He would get used to it. Ron pushed his hair away from his face. Fred and George always tried to scare him. He’d get even with them someday.

“The guys at school told us the old man did right out there in the field by the barn,” Fred began taunting again.

“Maybe some night, he’ll come looking for his hand. Maybe he’ll come to you room and—“ George didn’t finish.”

“Shut up!” Ron yelled as ran up the stairs to his bedroom and slammed the door.

He couldn’t listen anymore. He might be in the sixth grade, but he was still afraid of the dark and spiders. The idea of a ghost looking for a hand in his house scared him. Why did his parents move to the old house anyway? Why did h have to be able to see the cemetery from his bedroom window?

That night, after Ron crawled into bed, he remembered what his brothers had told him. The moon was full. What if the old man came looking for his hand? What would he do? Ron rolled over on his side.

“I’m not afraid,” he whispered to himself.

When Ron awoke, the moonlight shone on his face. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a hand floating inches away from his throat. The chalky white hand with the bloody wrist lay still. Then it twitched. Ron wanted to scream out, but an invisible web of fear stopped him.

It wasn’t the old man he could have been worried about; it was the old man’s hand! He could feel the sweat running down his face. His heart raced in terror. The hand was alive. It floated over to the window, then beckoned him to follow. Ron couldn’t move. The hand continued to beckon, but when Ron didn’t follow, the hand disappeared from sight.

It took hours for Ron to fall back to sleep. What if the hand came back? What would he do?

The next morning, Ron overslept and ended up racing to school. In class, he couldn’t think about anything but the hand. At recess, he decided to ask his new teacher, Ms. Trelawney, about the old man who used to live in his new house.

“Poor old Mr. Dumbledore. He was such a kind and caring man. He lost his wife Minerva about a year before the farm accident. They had been married for almost fifty years. He never did get over losing her.” She told Ron.

 _“If he was so kind, then why is he trying to scare the hell out of me?”_ Ron thought.

Later that afternoon at home, the twins came home from football practice.

“How’s our favourite little brother?” they asked in unison.

“What do you two care?” Ron scoffed.

“My, aren’t we touchy?” Fred started.

“What’s the matter?” George added.

“Having a hard time sleeping in the old man’s room?” they asked together and laughed.

That night, when Ron went to sleep, he left the light on. He woke in the middle of the night. His mother had turned off the light. Moonlight shone in his eyes. That was when he saw it.

Next to him lay the hand again, still and pasty white. It jerked and the skinny fingers motioned him to follow. Ron froze. He couldn’t breathe. What did it want? Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe the twins had just scared him too much. Maybe if he closed his eyes, it would go away. Ron scrunched his eyes tight for a moment, but when he opened them, the hand was still motioning him to follow.

Ron watched as the hand floated out the open window and into the night. It stopped and beckoned him again. Blood dripped from its wrist. Something inside Ron told him he had to follow this time. Frightened, but a little curious now, he slipped into his jeans and tennis shoes, and then he tiptoed downstairs and out the door. He followed the hand through the chilly night air, towards the barn.

A rusty old tractor and a thresher stood next to a mound of rotting hay. The hand hovered over the mound, its shaky white index finger pointing down. 

“Something very important must be in the hay,” Ron thought to himself.

The hand wanted him to find something. But what? And why?

He searched the hay, but even with the full moon, it was too dark to see. Besides, he didn’t know what he was looking for. A dog began to howl mournfully from the direction of the cemetery. The hand suddenly vanished. Ron stood alone in the moonlight, goose bumps raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He ran back to the house and thought of searching the hay mound some more tomorrow.

Ron got up really early the next morning. He had to tell someone about what happened during the night. But who? If he told the twins, they would only tease him about his imagination. If he told his parents, they would think he had a bad dream. If only his best friend, Harry, were there instead of five hundred miles away in London.

“Ron, are you alright?” the twins taunted.

“Fred and George Weasley! Have you been trying to scare your brother again? I wish you both would act your age.” Molly asked.

“Oh Mum...”

“Ron’s not a baby anymore...”

“That’s right.” Ron said, flinging two spoonful of granola at them.

“Mum! Did you see that?” the twins yelled.

“Ronald Weasley! I’m surprised at you!” their mother spoke.

“What’s the matter, Ron?” asked Fred.

“Lose control of your hand?” finished George.

When Ron returned home from school that day, h raced past his mother and up to his room. He stared at his bed. There was no sign of the hand. Then he went back down and headed to the barn. He got a pitchfork from the shed and went to the hay mound. The musty-smelling hay made whit puffs of dust as he pulled it apart.

Ron worked away at it until he saw a glint of light. He stopped and bent to get a closer look. Something gold and shiny lay hidden in the hay. He picked it up and brushed away the dust. It was a gold ring. This must be what the hand wanted. It must be the old man’s wedding ring. Ron studied the circle of gold in the sunlight, then carefully pushed it deep into his jean’s pocket and raced back to the house.

It was hot when Ron went to bed that night. He didn’t want to leave the window open, but he felt like a baked potato. He looked out the cemetery. This time, he expected the hand to come. The gravestones shimmered in the September moonlight. He could hear strange hooting and chirping sounds. Night in the country was scarier than in the city.

Ron slid under the covers. The sheets felt cool. He stretched his feet and felt something at the bottom of the bed. It was cold and soft. It felt like—

Ron jumped out of bd. He flung the sheet back. The hand, white and wrinkled, slowly dragged itself up the bed toward the pillow. The gnarled fingers motioned him toward it. Ron knew the hand wanted the ring. It didn’t seem to want anything else from him. He took the gold band from where he’d put it on his nightstand and tossed it onto the bed.

The hand crawled over to the ring, then rose into the air and hovered there, trembling.

“What more do you want? I got you your ring!” Ron whispered.

He stood motionless for what felt like forever. Did the hand want him to put the ring on its finger? What a creepy thought. Could he do it?

Ron bit his lip and stepped forward. He reached toward the ring. He grabbed it and before he could change his mind, he pushed it over the bent ring finger of the old man’s hand. The hand stopped trembling. For a moment, it didn’t move. Then it drifted toward Ron, gave him a gentle pat on the head, and disappeared.

Ron shuddered and crept back into bed. He gave a deep sigh of relief. It was all over. Now maybe he could get some sleep; and maybe the old man could too. His own hand brushed against something wet. He turned on the light by his bed. Blood was spattered across his sheet and pillow. That was all that was left of the hand.

That morning, Ron came down smiling to himself.

“Good morning, Mum. Good morning, Fred. George.” Ron said cheerfully as he entered the kitchen for breakfast.

“How come you’re in such a good mood?” Molly asked.

“I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.” He said, beaming at himself.

“You’re not?” Fred said, sounding disappointed.

“Why not?” George sounded just as disappointed as his twin did.

Ron smiled at them.

“I guess you just have to take matters into your own hands.” He said and ate his breakfast, knowing that things will all be normal now.


End file.
